Sometimes It's Better to Leave the Volume Down
by owlcroft
Summary: A scene right after Christmas about that wreath and card delivered to the judge's cell.


A/N: Many thanks to L.M.L. for the speedy beta. Any technical errors are the author's own.

SOMETIMES IT'S BETTER TO LEAVE THE VOLUME TURNED DOWN

by

Owlcroft

"Hey, this one's yours," the judge pushed a sheet of paper over towards McCormick.

Mark looked around from the back of the television in puzzlement. "I thought you were paying bills." He reached for the paper, couldn't make it, and eased out from behind the set. "I still think it's a blown fuse, Judge. Why can't we get a repairman out here to fix it before I really mess things up?"

Hardcastle grunted, then opened his checkbook and starting writing. "Because I'm laying out enough dough on Christmas bills, that's why. You're a mechanic, you fix things, fix the TV." He paused in making out the check to the caterer and wrinkled his brow. "Wait a minute. That's from a florist, isn't it?"

McCormick was scanning the bill. "Yep. It was for your wreath."

"I thought you told me you bought those from a kid down near the bail bondsman place? Some little kid out on Christmas Eve, trying to make an honest buck. Or," the judge went back to his check-writing, "a semi-honest buck, anyway."

"Yeah, but I gave all those away." Mark stuck the bill in the back pocket of his jeans and scooted back behind the television. "Then I remembered you sitting there all alone in jail and I'd given all the wreaths away, so I got you one from what was probably the last flower shop open in all of southern California. _And _I hadda pay extra to get it delivered that night. Ow!" He sucked on a finger. "There are sharp things in here." He prodded tentatively at a circuit board.

The judge carefully filled in his check register, then looked up. "Ah-hah. That explains the signature, then. I was kinda wondering about that."

"What?" A curly head popped into sight briefly. "A signature? I just told them to put in a card with some holly or something on it."

Hardcastle nodded and quirked a smile. "Yeah, and I bet you said to put your name on it, right?"

A muffled 'uh-huh' came from the television.

"That explains it all right. I thought you musta been hitting the eggnog pretty hard to sign it that way." Hardcastle reached for the next bill, opened it, frowned at the amount at the bottom.

"Huh?" Mark peered around the corner of the set at the older man. "What way? What, did they spell my name wrong or something? It was really late, ya know, and they just wanted to get the thing on the truck and close up shop. Although," he sucked his punctured finger ruminatively, "it's kinda hard to misspell McCormick."

"Nah, they put your first name on the card, see?" The judge kept the rest of the handwritten message to himself. "I didn't think it was your writing, but I never thought about a florist. I just put the weird parts down to the eggnog. Hey, don't hit it that hard! You'll break it!"

McCormick stopped thumping the interior of the television and crawled back around to the front of it. "What're you worried about? It already doesn't work right." He turned up the sound hopefully.

A rousing Sousa March accompanied the artfully-coiffed weatherman currently pointing out the cold front entering Los Angeles from off the Pacific.

Hardcastle sighed. "Okay, I give up. I'll call Gus in just a minute."

The Sousa March came to an abrupt end as Mark switched off the set. "Hey, I tried. At least I got the sound back."

"Yeah, but sometimes it's better to have no sound at all than the wrong kind." The judge sealed an envelope and put it on the stack to be mailed. "But thanks again for the wreath. It was real nice, and the card was okay just the way it was."

"Hey, I knew what you were going through, remember? Sometimes you just need to know somebody on the outside is thinking about you." McCormick dusted himself off and started hunting for the phone book.

"Yeah, well, don't go getting all sappy on me now, huh?" The judge reached to take the phone book from the younger man. "Sometimes it's better to keep the sloppy stuff turned down, too, ya know."

"Less is more?" grinned Mark. "Things are better left unsaid?"

The judge nodded. "Something like that. It goes without saying."

_finis_


End file.
